


Lighting Strike

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, after effects of Force Lightning, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: After the Battle of Endor, the work to finish off the Empire and to rebuild the Republic begins.  However, Luke suffered trauma at the hands of the Emperor, and ignoring it doesn't make it go away.





	Lighting Strike

Everyone was exhausted. It was the inevitable crash after an intense high and the release of tension. The Death Star was destroyed and the Emperor was dead. That was certainly worth the night of celebration. But the Empire itself was far from destroyed, and there was a lot of work left. The morning after the Battle of Endor came far too quickly for the remaining and hungover members of the Resistance.

Leia, hair twisted up into a tight crown and bacta patch on her arm, was the center of the activity. People swirled around her, generals and commanders, aides and pilots. She was collected and calm, but her voice would rise above the tumult every once and awhile, and the activity around her would move faster.

Han grinned and shook his head and left the command space. Leia hardly needed him, and he would only be in the way. Besides which, despite his promises, Lando had returned the _Falcon_ with more than a few scratches. Repair work would keep him occupied and allow time for him to formulate some very scathing comments about Lando’s flying, which he could make now that the battle was over and Lando himself made it back without a mark.

Chewie was already at the hanger and at the _Falcon_ , taking inventory of the damage. Han grumbled his own responses to comments about human pilots, and how the _Falcon_ would have been in better shape if Chewie had flown it through the forest the entire battle. Han collected the tool box from inside, and as he came back down the ramp, he spotted Luke.

He was still all in black, and there were some smudges of grey ash on his boots and a streak of it on his cheekbone. It wasn’t the reminder of the funeral pyre that Luke had held vigil over that made Han stop and stare however. It was the complete pallor of Luke’s face.

“I’ll be up in a second,” he said to Chewie’s inquiry, and handed up the tool box over to him.

Luke had made his way over the the X-Wings, where Wedge was giving a very coherent break down of the state of the fighters, considering how much alcohol Han had seen him drink the night before. Han hung back for a moment to let Wedge finish.

Luke nodded his thanks and looked over at the fighters. “I can start on that one with the short in the S-foils.”

“You don’t have to,” Wedge said quickly. “You’re a commander, and…” his eyes flicked over Luke’s black clothing and lingered on his lightsaber, “Aren’t you a Jedi now, too?”

Luke huffed a quiet laugh. “Please, Wedge, I was on repair duty like everyone else while I was a commander. I can still pull my weight, Jedi or not. Besides, I like to work on the ships.”

Wedge shrugged. “All right then. Have fun.”

Han stepped forward. “Hey, Luke, how you feeling this morning?”

Luke turned and a faint smile was on his face, but his eyes were distant and underlined with dark circles. “I’m fine. Just want to help.”

“Like you haven’t?” Han asked, with a frown. “You were part of the whole effort that got this Death Star blown up too, even if you didn’t fire the last shot this time.

He shrugged. “I haven’t been keeping score.”

There was a certain delay to Luke’s words and his movements held less of the poise and control that Han had seen from him the last few days. Something like worry twisted in Han’s gut, and he went with that feeling. “Come on, I’ll go with you to check out that X-Wing. You might need a hand.”

A wry grin flashed across Luke’s face, but Han wasn’t sure where the joke was. “Aren’t you going to help Chewie with the _Falcon_?”

“He’ll be fine for a bit.”

Luke didn’t try to stop Han from coming with him, but tension pulled his shoulders taut and his gaze was distant and a bit glassy. The unease in Han’s gut tightened, but he couldn’t figure out what to say. Everyone was off their game a little that morning. It probably wouldn’t do to push or tease Luke about sleep deprivation and a hangover when Han was suffering from the same things.

They started work on the X-wing, and there was no conversation beyond mechanical related questions and answers, and an occasional muttered curse as something stuck or came unstuck too quickly. Artoo showed up at some point - Han wasn’t sure from where, but he wasn’t surprised, the droid was attached to Luke - chirping and beeping his own suggestions as he hooked into the fighter’s computer. Han climbed up on the right wing while Luke was under the left; Wedge had thought the problem was just in the left wing, but Artoo’s diagnostics had showed an issue in the right as well. Luke’s voice drifted up in response to Artoo’s beeping, and Han relaxed a little. He sounded more like himself, the tension and oddness to his cadence in his words gone. Han focused on pulling of the bit of flak from the wing - it hadn’t gone in very far to cause damage to the hull, but it was close to the hinge of the S-foils and could easily become a bigger problem.

Luke gave a sharp gasp, there was a thump, and Artoo started squealing.

Han was moving almost before Artoo started his alarm call. He jumped across the cockpit, slid along half the wing and jumped down, worry blooming wide and cold in his chest.

Luke was on his knees, arms pulled into his chest, shoulders curled forward, as if protecting himself from invisible blows. Tremors ran through his whole body, and his teeth chattered under the harsh rasp of his breath.

“Kriff, Luke, what’s wrong?” Han said as he dropped to one knee next to him. He touched Luke’s shoulder blade to steady him, and Luke keened in pain.

“Don’t!” he gasped and jerked away, moves uncoordinated and muscles spasming. “Don’t touch me, please!”

“The hell,” Han muttered, and pulled his hands back. Luke stayed in the miserable ball he had curled into, face white and shiny with sweat. “Chewie! Get over here!”

Luke groaned and shook his head. “No, don’t…”

“He’s not gonna touch you unless he has to,” Han reassured him. “But I didn’t bring a commlink, either.”

Chewie appeared and ducked under the wing, his own worried questions growling out.

“Grab a commlink from someone and get a medic down here.”

Han turned back to Luke as Chewie hurried away. Luke had managed to sit up, and the spasms appeared to have eased as well. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Luke raised a shaking hand to his face and scrubbed at the sweat. He opened his mouth to answer, but then shook his head. A moment passed and he fought to steady his breath, eyes closed. Han waited, fingers drumming against his knee. He could hear Chewie talking to Wedge, and the chirup of the commlink connecting. The Rebellion didn’t have a lot of resources available, but they did have a bacta tank, well programmed droids, and medics that always went above and beyond their job descriptions. They would help Luke, there was not doubt in Han’s mind about that. They would just have to figure out what exactly was wrong with him.

“Feel up to talking now?” Han asked as Luke’s breathing evened out and he opened his eyes. “I promise not to ask too many hard questions.”

Luke managed a half smile. “That’s fine.”

“Okay, then, can you give me some idea of what’s going on? The medics are going to ask you too, but I wanna know, too.”

“It’s okay now, I’ve got it under control.”

“Yeah, no. You still look like hammered bantha shit. Wanna try again? Why didn’t you want to be touched?”

“Hurts,” Luke said. Sweat stood on his forehead again, and his breathing grew uneven. “Just hurts, and I can’t stop shaking.”

Han’s brain shuffled through possible diagnosis. Dehydration could explain the muscle cramps and dizziness, but he’d never seen anyone go that extreme. Was Luke sweating from pain and stress, or was it a fever? It couldn’t be blood burn, could it? Han forced himself from touching Luke’s forehead like a mother hen to check his temperature, but only just. If the medics didn’t get there soon, he was going to drag Luke to meet them; he not only had to get Luke taken care of, but he also needed to know what was wrong. He’d been protective and had become friends and brothers in arms with Luke a long time ago, but knowing he was Leia’s brother ratcheted up his concern. He didn’t want to see Luke hurting, and he didn’t want Leia to worry.

There was a small flurry of activity next to the X-wing as the medic showed up. “Commander Skywalker? I have a hover stretcher. Can you stand, or do you need assistance?”

Han relaxed a little. He recognized the medic from his post carbon freezing and pre-Endor mission check ups. Alaiki Cavi was a human trained on a Core planet, and was patient and competent. Han trusted them.

Luke considered for a moment and took a deep breathe. “I got it.”

He got up, slow and painful, his measured breaths hissing out through clenched teeth. On his feet, but still hunched, he managed a few steps out from under the fighter’s wing. His leg gave out on the third step, and he went down. Han lunged forward, barely a step behind, and grabbed Luke by the upper arm to stop his fall. Luke screamed in pain. Han almost let go in shock, but shifted to grab Luke’s other elbow. The black cloth of Luke’s sleeve disguised it, but Han could feel dampness spreading to his fingers. He looked, but it wasn’t blood.

Alaiki was at Luke’s side as well by then then. They gave Luke a quick jab of a painkiller, and then maneuvered the hover stretcher closer and helped him settle onto it. The little droid onboard started beeping and flashing up figures on a view screen as it hooked up sensors. The painkiller did its job, but Luke was still rigid as he lay on his back on the stretcher, face colorless and damp with sweat. Han shuddered. If it wasn’t for the tiny tremors still wracking his body, Luke looked dead.

“Okay, let’s get you to the med center, Commander, and see what we need to do,” Alaki said, starting the stretcher into motion. When Luke gritted out a question, they nodded and looked over their shoulder at Han. “You can come with too, Commander Solo.”

“Was going to anyway,” Han muttered, but just fell into step behind the stretcher, close but far enough away to not be a hindrance.

They all arrived in the med center in short order and transferred Luke to an exam table. He was spasming again, fingers twitching and legs cramping, obvious even across the room where Han stood; he groaned and curled into himself again, and Alaiki didn’t push it, assuring him they’d give him a moment before asking him to move again. The door to the room opened, and Leia strode in, eyes wide.

“Luke?” She stepped up his side, the medic side stepping to avoid her while continuing their set up. “What happened?”

He shook his head, and managed to sit up. His left hand was clasped over his right wrist, just below where he still wore the single black glove. “It hurts… it hurts again, and the mech hand is not working right either.”

“Shh, it’s all right, we’ll fix it,” Leia whispered, and gently pulled the glove off his hand.

Han fought to catch his breath. Luke had said mech hand, and he’d been wearing glove since Han had got his eyesight back. The glove slipped off to reveal a patch skin that was scorched black on the edges, and a jumble of jumping, twitching mechanical parts underneath. Han felt sick.

“When the hell did that happen?” he breathed.

Leia looked up from where she was massaging Luke’s wrist. “Bespin, after the carbon freeze. Vader.” She grumbled under her breath; Luke’s hand jerked and clenched into a fist as he whined. “Is this helping at all?”

“It usually does,” he replied. “I think… argh… I think some elements got shorted out.”

“What?” Leia asked, both to Luke and the medic who tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry General, but I need you to step aside for a moment.” They turned their attention back to Luke as Leia retreated over to Han. “Commander, we need to get you out of those clothes - both for a full examination, because some of the readings I’m getting don’t make sense, and because they are rather dirty.”

Luke’s jaw clenched but he nodded. Hands still twitching, he managed to undo the fastenings on his shirt and let Alaiki help him pull it off. He bit back a sharp groan as the fabric peeled away from his arms. As the shirt fell away, there was a beat of stunned silence. Then, Leia gasped and Han swore.

“What the hell happened to you, kid?”

Red and blistered lines ran down his arms, fanning out ferns like across the skin. Some of the blisters had burst, and Han realized that the dampness he had felt on Luke’s arm earlier hadn’t just been sweat.

“I’m going to cut away your undershirt, commander, so you don’t need to move as much,” Alaiki said, voice still calm, but more subdued. The burns continued across Luke’s chest and back and down, some blistered and burst like the ones on his arms, others a bright painful red.

“Commander, where did you encounter this much electricity?” Alaiki asked. “I’ve seen photo of this before from med school, this looks like the after effects of a lighting hit more than anything else.”

“Force lightning,” Luke gasped. “The Emperor… powerful in the Dark Side.”

“Oh, Luke,” Leia said as she rushed up to the table again and took his twitching right hand. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sweat and tears of pain ran down his face, and the med droid beeped out reports about increasing heart rates and suggestions for pain treatment. Alaiki stepped away to find the medicine, and Han stepped next to Leia.

“Same question. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice something was wrong!”

“I managed to control the pain ... with the Force,” he managed. “I had to get out… get Father out. I didn’t have time to worry about it. After… the pain was remote, and I could ignore it. But I can’t anymore. There’s… I’m so tired.” He looked up at them, eyes bright against the dark circles around them. “The Force feels so distant.”

“You’re body has undergone a lot of trauma and stress. You are going to be exhausted,” Alaiki said as they came back with a new syringe. “And I am going to hazard a guess that reaching the Force is going to be difficult when you are in this much pain and with no energy reserves to speak of.” They injected the drug into the IV port that had been inserted into Luke’s left hand earlier. “We will get you settled a bit and prep the bacta tank. After the treatment, we’ll see where we are at and make plans from there.”

Luke pulled a face. “I hate the bacta tank. It’s gross.”

Han felt a nervous laugh tangle somewhere in his throat. Despite everything, in that moment Luke looked like the kid that Han had first seen in the cantina in Mos Eisley.

“It may be gross, but it is going to be the best and fastest option to get you healed,” Alaiki replied.

Luke shook his head again. “I should be helping out, not be sedated and in a tank.”

Leia snorted. “Luke you are in no shape to help right now. You’re in agony. This is going to be the best for all of us, especially you.”

“I should be able to handle this, to heal myself with the Force… I shouldn’t be this weak.”

“Karking hell, do you even register how bad you got hurt?” Han demanded. “You’re all burns and your muscles don’t work right. Force or not, Jedi or not, you need help. Get in the damn tank.”

Leia took both Luke’s hands in hers and caught his gaze. “Listen. You don’t have to walk through this, or anything else, alone. You have me, you have Han. And all your other friends. You don’t have to carry every burden alone just because you’re a Jedi.” She smiled. “You’re my brother, too, so you should listen.”

A weak grin answered her. “Who says who’s older?”

“Just go with the assumption that I’m the oldest, and we’ll manage fine,” she said.

His smile twisted into a grimace. “Okay. You’re right.” He looked up at the medic. “Let’s go.”

*

The bacta tank wasn’t any less unpleasant than it had been on Hoth, with the extra indignity of a longer submersion time. But by the time the treatment was over, the muscle tremors were gone and the exhaustion had retreated. The mech hand would probably have to be replaced, even with a synth-skin patch matching perfectly, both the initial blaster bolt and the Force lightning had messed with the mechanics enough that it wouldn’t work correctly for much longer.

Bacta could do a lot, but it couldn’t completely erase scars.

Luke looked down his arms and across his torso at the faint white marks that fanned across his skin. There was only the faintest tug from the scar tissue as he flexed and moved. He finished dressing; Leia had managed to track down another black set of clothing. It as much like armor as the first set, perhaps more. When he had confronted Jabba, he’d been confident and more than a little arrogant. He’d been the same the first time he’d faced Vader, and when he confronted the Emperor. Perhaps after this time, he’d learn to keep his pride in check. But he also hoped that they were heading towards a time of peace, and he wouldn’t need to worry about anything like an emperor or a Force user powerful in the Dark Side. Just rebuilding the Republic and reviving knowledge of the Jedi would be enough.

A knock on the door preceded Leia and Han.

“Well, you look better,” Han said without preamble, but Luke could see the relief in his eyes.

Leia have him a gentle hug. “Ready to get back to work?” she teased.

“Get me some caf, and then I’ll be good,” he replied with a smile.

She smiled back. “And are you going to remember to ask for help when you need it and not run off on your own?”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Don’t try, just do it.”

Luke laughed. At the confused looks from Leia and Han, he waved his hand. “Master Yoda said something like that to me.”

Leia nodded. “Good. Maybe the lesson will sink in. Let’s go.”

She led the way out of room, with Luke behind her. As Han fell into step behind them, he clapped Luke on the shoulder and squeezed. Luke reached up and clasped Han’s hand. It was good to reminded of love and support. They had the future to look forward to, and each other to help get there.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen a lot of stuff touching on the after effects of Luke getting hit by Force Lightning to kill him. I did speed read The Truce At Bakura (the fourth EU novel I've ever read), since that was one of the few things my digging around for hurt comfort, both canon and not, that took a look at it. So there is a bit of inspiration and nods to that. But, since I love hurt comfort, I didn't think it was enough, so I had to write my own. 
> 
> There was also maybe a bit of me trying to explain why we see Luke where he is in TLJ, since his dive into depression seemed to go against a lot of what we'd come to expect of Luke. But if he's maybe had his body and brain wracked by electricity, might that not mess with his brain chemistry, that when terrible things happen to and because of his nephew, that depression and disappearing from the world makes some more sense? Also, it tastes of angst to have the trio be so hopeful at the end of this fic because of where the new trilogy goes. Whoops.
> 
> All mistakes are mine.


End file.
